Just A Kiss Golden Revolution Part One
by MidnightRhymer
Summary: She was his daughter, he was his best friend. They each had his trust in some way or another, and they were both impossibly destined to break it. Tony/OC Mentions of Hotch/Reid and Gibbs/Ziva. Rating subject to change.
1. Homecoming

_**Hey, guess what: this isn't the first NCIS fanfiction I've ever written, but it's the first that's ever been completed. I don't have an update schedule quite yet, and I was hoping to get your opinion on that. I can do monthly, weekly, or daily; it's up to you. **_

_**I also want to thank my sister-from-another-mother, Danielle, for being both the model for any sappy shit that goes on in this story, the title, and for helping me to whip it out in record time. There might be a few hiccups along the way as, despite being an excellent continuity editor and great suggestor of plot lines, Danielle is not the greatest with the spelling and grammar, but it happens, right?**_

_**Reviews are loved, flamers will be deleted on sight and I will not stoop to the level of even mentioning them.**_

_**It's cost me a story before.**_

Chapter One- Homecoming

Everyone had gathered at Gibbs's place, for once. It was a team Christmas celebration, with potluck food and plenty of stories and presents to pass around. It had been a tradition Ducky had started shortly after his mother had died, when he was loathe to spend Christmas alone. This was the boss-man's first year as a host, however, and the decorations were a little sparser than usual. Jackson Gibbs had come over, and, despite the lack of decorations, everything was as good as it could ever be. There were no complaints, and plenty of laughs.

"Present time?" Ziva asked, a smile on her face.

"You first," Tony replied.

She shot him a glare and then opened her large bag. From within it, she pulled a book shaped package that was handed to Palmer; a box that, when handed to Tony, shook with the sound of DVDs; another two book shaped packages for both Jackson and Jethro; a small black bag for Abby; a CD sized package for McGee; and an oddly shaped package for Ducky. Just as Gibbs was getting ready to pass out his packages, the front door burst open.

She stumbled in, snow melting in her hair to give her a disheveled look. Her lips and fingertips were blue, and she was dressed only in a t-shirt and shorts that were almost entirely hidden beneath the shirt. Her over-long, cartoon blue hair seemed to make her look even colder, and, despite no one knowing who this girl was save the owner of the house and his father, everyone grabbed whatever was nearest that could be thrown over the freezing girl as she collapsed on the rug in the foyer. Gibbs raced to her side as the others looked for blankets and coats; anything to get her warm. The boss-man slid to a stop beside her, enfolding the girl in his arms as his team came into the room hot on his heels, blankets and coats at the ready.

They covered the both of them.

In a team effort, they were able to get both Jethro and the girl into the living room in front of the fireplace, where they collapsed on the couch, the girl breathing heavily.

"Where's your inhaler?" Jethro asked softly.

"I-I-In m-m-my c-c-c-c-c-car," she replied. "T-t-t-two blocks n-n-n-north of here."

Tony walked back into the foyer and looked out at the porch. The keys had fallen by the steps.

"I got it!" he called back, and was out the door.

"You walked two blocks in clothes you'd wear at the beach in LA? Girl, you haven't gotten any smarter where the weather's concerned," Jack said good-naturedly, but there was concern written all over his face.

"T-Thanks, Uncle Jack. I needed that," she replied with a shaky smile.

"What are you doing here, Cassie?" Gibbs asked finally.

The signature Gibbs-stare was obviously a part of this girl's repertoire, but it seemed sharper and more dangerous when it was given from eyes as green as a turbulent sea. The dark glare that she leveled the man who was giving her his body heat with would have leveled the Great Pyramid of Khufu, had she chosen it for a target. However, the look was met and returned, and, although she could clearly have glared anyone else into submission, she was not the master. After a moment, she backed down. She laid her head on his chest and snuggled closer, closing her eyes in the process. The story she would have to tell would be easier if she didn't have to look at him to speak. After all, she was the shrink; she should have known.

"He… He never hit me until a week ago," she whispered. "I don't… remember who said what; all I know is that we were both pretty drunk. Some things were said that shouldn't have been said, and the situation got out of hand pretty quickly. I… I don't know if _I_ said something, or if he said something and I just reacted badly, but… the next thing I know… he's on top of me… beating the hell out of me."

Ducky leaned forward, and, in the soft firelight, he could make out the slowly yellowing bruises that corroborated her story, and told him that she needed to have some x-rays done.

"He stopped… I don't know how much later… and… he fell asleep on the couch. I… I called the local LEOs, and filed a statement and everything, and they picked him up. But… he made bail."

"So you left," Gibbs said, and he began to card his fingers through the Cassie's hair.

"Yeah. I… I stopped at the store, to see Uncle Jack… but they told me he came here," she said softly. "I… I don't want to-"

Gibbs shushed her, but it was a moot point; at that moment, Tony burst back through the door with the inhaler and her keys.

"I brought it," he said softly, "And I moved your car closer."

Gibbs took the inhaler from Tony and went to hand it to the girl, but his father stilled his hand. The thirty-second lull had been all she needed; Cassie had gone to sleep.

"Who is this girl?" Ziva asked finally, albeit softly.

"This is Cassandra Adriana Gibbs," Jack answered quietly. "She's my brother's granddaughter."

"My second cousin," Jethro added.

"She's the baby of the family," his father continued. "A well-respected screen writer in Hollywood, or so I'm told. She's been dating the same guy for years; longer than Jethro's been single, if you can believe that."

He gave his father a glare, but the older man continued.

"Sounds like that relationship has turned a little sour," Ducky said absently. He was already examining the visible areas of Cassie's skin for more bruises and marks, concern written deeply on his face.

"I imagine so, Duck," Jethro replied, but Tony could practically see the murder in his eyes.

"The boy's gonna get his just deserts, Jethro, don't you worry," Jack said darkly. "Whether he gets it from the law or from Cassie's father is another story."

"When David finds out about this, he's going to want leave to come kill the bastard," the younger Gibbs replied. "But it isn't him I'd be worried about right now. If Diabella finds out, he'll have to worry about getting his balls chopped off."

"I'm guessing Diabella is her mother and David is her father," Tony surmised hesitantly.

Jethro nodded, ignoring both the urge to headslap his Senior Field Agent and the desire to correct him on the subject of Cassie's father. That would involve moving and more discussion than it was worth, and he had held a sleeping Cassie at enough stages of her life to know she slept light. The fact that she hadn't woken up because of the conversation yet spoke to how exhausted she was.

"Do you think she drove straight through?" McGee asked softly.

"I don't think. I know," Gibbs replied, continuing to card his fingers through her hair. "She probably only ever stopped for gas, food, and caffeine, and even the food is a stretch."

"Sounds like she gets her stubbornness from you," Ziva offered. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-seven," Jack said softly, "And I imagine she got a lot of things from Jethro. He practically raised her."

Everyone turned surprised glances at the boss-man.

He sighed, glared at his father, and then turned to his team. "Both her parents are military, have been for a long time. They're also divorced. A lot of times, they ended up deployed at the same time, and so she ended up with me. When she was five, she… ended up staying with me permanently. Kelly was a year older than her, and they were as close as sisters. Shannon was more than willing to take care of her."

"And… when they died?"

"She was at Bethesda after a severe asthma attack in class, when the NIS agents tried to take her to the safe house," Gibbs said hesitantly. "One of them was wearing cologne that triggered it. Despite the fact that he could have killed her, he saved her life as well."

As if in reaction to the topic, Cassie burrowed further into Jethro's arms, the only sign of stirring that she had issued.

"She stayed with me for a while afterward, until she graduated in '99."

"That would have made her fourteen," Ducky observed.

"She's always been highly intelligent, and very driven," Jack offered. "As I understand it, she was offered a dean's scholarship to Harvard Med."

"Dear me, she's a doctor?"

"Criminal Psychiatrist. She's gotten four years of fieldwork, but she decided to leave for LA last year; took her boyfriend with her. I never found out why," Gibbs replied.

"I'll show you the case file. Then you'll understand," Cassie groaned, sitting up gingerly. "If you're going to talk about me, I'm going to leave so I can sleep."

"Where are you going to stay?" Gibbs said, grabbing her arm gently.

"Well, the plan was to sleep in my car, and then see if Hotch will let me have my job back, but I got here and it was snowing," she said sheepishly. "So, I was hoping I could stay in my old room… if it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. It's yours as long as you need it. "

Gibbs was awoken the next morning by the sound of dishes being done, and a slightly heated conversation coming from the kitchen. He rolled off the couch and headed into the room the offending sounds were issuing from, a smile growing on his face at the sight of Cassie, ever the multitalented girl she was in high school. Bacon was popping on the stove, coffee was bubbling away in the coffee maker, and she was throwing various dishes from the night before into the drainer at record speed, all while talking on the phone.

"I know what I said, Hotch, but things changed. I… No, it's not really your business-… Fine, he hit me, alright?... No, it's never happened before… I promise, it hasn't… Yes I filed charges, but he made bail. I split… I'm staying at my d… at my cousin's house… I know he'll be thrilled. I was the only human being on the planet who understands him, remember?"

She hung up without a good bye, and set the phone on the counter. She placed one more spoon in the dish rack and then drained the sink before drying her hands on the dishtowel and turning toward the stove. She didn't even flinch when her eyes caught him in the doorway. Even after thirteen years of absence, she was too used to him appearing out of nowhere to question it any longer. Instead, she smiled at him and then turned the bacon quickly. In her usual morning rhythm, she cracked two eggs into an already hot pan and began to fry them, pulling two plates out of the cupboard as she did so.

It was familiar, and it made him realize how much he had missed her presence in his life. Granted, when she walked out of it again, he would be able to cope, knowing that she wasn't walking out of it entirely, but that didn't change the fact that he missed walking down the stairs in the mornings to the fourteen year old who was cooking breakfast and discussing quantum theory with her chemistry teacher on the phone.

"So, is he going to give you your job back?" Gibbs asked as he pulled down a pair of cups from above the sink and moved to the coffee maker. "Still black with too much sugar, right?"

"Right, and yes," she said, flipping the eggs. "Over easy or well done?"

"Just right."

Although he couldn't see it, she smiled. "You got the day off, given that it's Christmas morning?"

"I do, but I'm on call."

Cassie nodded. "Good."

"Why?"

"It's a surprise."

Jack came down the stairs carefully, and he rounded the corner with equal care. When he saw the breakfast fixings already in place, he sighed; the last few days, he'd been fixing breakfast. Of course, every time Cassie slept over at Jethro's, breakfast was part of the package.

Before he could even get a cup of coffee, she had turned to him.

"Scrambled, fried, or poached?" she asked.

"Fried, if you don't mind. Two would be lovely."

She smiled and cracked two more eggs into the pan. As they started to fry, she slid the bacon out of the other pan and onto a plate covered with paper towels. Gently, she patted off the grease and began to dish out the bacon.

"Toast?" she tossed over her shoulder.

"Two," they answered in unison.

Cassie pulled down the loaf of bread and popped four pieces into the toaster.

When all of breakfast was finally ready and served, they sat down together at the little-used kitchen table and ate in relative silence. The first words spoken at the breakfast table were also the last; compliments from Jack to Cassie about a meal well cooked. She smiled and gathered the dishes, taking them to the sink in silence. After she started running the water, Jethro moved her to the side, and started to do the dishes, another old routine that he had never been able to shake when she came around.

Cassie smiled and headed upstairs to her room in silence.

"How long do you think she'll stay this time?" Jack asked.

"Dunno," he replied, rinsing the plates and putting them into the dish rack.

"How long will you let her stay?"

"As long as she needs."

Not long after she disappeared back upstairs, Cassie returned to the kitchen fully dressed, and pocketed her phone.

"I've got some… arrangements that need to be made and apartment hunting to do. Wanna come along?" she asked.

Jethro nodded, but Jack shook his head.

"I think these old bones will hang out here. It's a long flight back tonight."

Cassie leaned in to hug her uncle, and then grabbed her keys off the counter.

"Don't you have a coat?" Jethro asked.

"N-No," she said, turning to look at him. "I threw it out when I went to LA."

Sighing, he opened up the closet and pulled one of her old jackets out. He handed it to her, and she smiled up at him.

"Some things never change," she said with a soft laugh.


	2. Surprises

Chapter Two- Surprises

Cassie's "arrangements" turned out to be a phone call on the way to her old apartment complex, placed to her best friend, checking to see that they could pack up all her stuff for her. In a way, she had been incredibly lucky; her lease was up in two days. But, in more ways, there was nothing lucky about what had happened to her, and she illustrated as much.

When they arrived at her old apartment complex, the landlord still remembered her; in and out at odd hours, gone for days at a time, badge and a gun despite being short and petite. He had once proclaimed her his favorite tenant, for the sheer fact that there was almost never anything going on that was questionable in her apartment. He offered her the old apartment, and, when they went up to take a look, she stopped at the top of the stairs, huffing, and shook her head.

"How about something on the ground floor?" she asked.

The landlord retreated down, concern painted on his features, and she followed, only to be blocked by a solid wall of concerned fatherhood. Gibbs tilted her face up to his silently. There was pain in her eyes, and shame as well. Her arm was clutched tightly to her side, and it was clear that something was wrong. He released her, knowing all too well that she'd never talk to him with someone else around. While she and the landlord headed back to look at apartments on the ground floor, he called Ducky.

"Can you meet me at the Yard in a half an hour?" he asked.

"_Of course, but why?"_

"Something's wrong with Cassie, and hospitals aren't her thing."

"_Ah. I'll be there posthaste._"

Gibbs pocketed his cell phone and joined Cassie and the landlord on the ground floor. She was nosing her way through a one-bedroom apartment, and, when she disappeared into the bedroom, the landlord turned to Gibbs.

"What happened to her?" he asked darkly.

"Her boyfriend happened."

The smaller man looked like he was about to have a conniption before Cassie slipped back into the main part of the apartment, dropping her inhaler back into her purse. She met his eyes with a smile and a shrug before turning to the landlord.

"I'll take it."

"When will you be moving in?" he asked.

"Probably next week."

"I'll have the lease drawn up; same terms as last time?"

"Absolutely."

"My turn to drive," Gibbs said, putting an arm around Cassie's shoulders.

He pulled her gently from the apartment, guiding her back to the car.

"I'm fine, really," she said softly, knowing exactly where this was headed; nowhere fast.

"I know."

"Then why are you acting like I'm death on a soda cracker?"

Gibbs shrugged, opening the door for her in silence. She sat down in the passenger seat of her neon blue Mustang in silence for the first time in forever. She crossed her arms as Gibbs got in the driver's seat.

"Your dad would be proud to see you driving stick."

"It's a '65 rag top with a custom paint job; the only choice way to get it is stick," Cassie offered quietly.

"Choice?"

"So choice."

Gibbs laughed as he started the car. The smile that settled on his face afterward, however, lasted only until he slammed on the brakes in DC traffic to avoid hitting a car, and Cassie's sharp intake of breath as she jerked forward told him one thing; the bastard that had hit her had also broken her ribs.

He drove as fast as he could to the Navy Yard, worry painted in every crease and every line on his face. The concern made him seem older, and Cassie felt her heart thud heavily at the thought. It had never been hard to imagine the only father figure she had ever really known as an old man—he'd never been particularly easy to live with, and he was a grumpy old asshole before the second cup of coffee most mornings—but that didn't mean she ever wanted to make him feel old. It had been enough last night, telling him what had happened and trying to ignore his reaction to it; the murder that had been clearly written in his eyes and the sorrow at what had happened to _his_ baby girl, as he had once called her. He was never a particularly affectionate man, but once upon a time all they had had was each other, and nothing would ever change the bond between them. Nothing.

It hadn't made restraining him without actually appearing to any easier.

Jethro pulling her out of her own car stripped Cassie from her thoughts rather unceremoniously. She went willingly, knowing that the only way to assuage his fears was to go along with whatever was going on. In silence, she followed him down into the morgue, where Ducky was already set up.

"Well, my dear, I must say you are certainly looking better today than you were when I last saw you," he said, Scottish accent both familiar and foreign. He had a grandfatherly presence that put her at ease instantly, and it made her wonder what had made him answer a mortician's call.

She decided it was safer not to ask.

"I can imagine. I believe the phrase that's often used is 'drowned cat'."

Ducky laughed before beckoning her over to the table. "If you can, I'd like as detailed an account as you can give of your injuries," he said softly.

Cassie sighed as she hopped up on the table, and then turned to Jethro. "Can you… step outside? I don't need you running off all half-cocked and going to jail over me."

Ten years ago, he would have protested violently. He'd sat in on every doctor's appointment with her, no matter how intimate. But, this time, she had a point; if he heard even a fraction of what had happened that night, he was probably going to go to California, hunt down the bastard, and kill him. Despite this, his every instinct warred against the nod he gave before he stepped out of the morgue.

"My dear, if you have to send him away, it must be bad," Ducky said softly.

She smiled sheepishly, and then pulled her shirt over her head.

The yellowing bruises on her face had obviously been superficial, as the bruises to her torso were still black, after a week. They were all fist shaped, and looked about as painful as they felt. How the girl was even capable of breathing was beyond him, impossible almost. The worst, and the most telling, however, were the bruises on her wrists. The black bruises that they had somehow all missed, patterned of fingers but also of rope, were the most indicative of what would cause Jethro to want to kill him.

Ducky spoke as he turned her wrists over. "Are you planning on hiding your rape from him?"

"Until Mike's behind bars, yes."

"Mike?"

"Dietrich."

"Ah."

"Not Mike Franks," she said with a shudder. "He's… sorta like an uncle."

Ducky smiled softly. "I can imagine. Why didn't the hospital treat these injuries?"

"I wouldn't let them. Most of the doctors in LA are sub-par Harvard med washouts who don't deserve a license. The plan was to treat it here, but…"

"Jethro got to you first," Ducky surmised.

"I tried to go upstairs. It didn't end well."

"I can't imagine it would, what with these bruises. He's easily broken at least three ribs on either side; it's a wonder you can move at all."

"I'm used to pain," she said softly. "I was always doing stupid stuff as a kid; breaking things. Ask Jethro; I've got a medical record that could be a hundred page novel."

Ducky smiled. "I'll have to take a look; sounds like it could be an interesting read."

Cassie let out a giggle that was cut short with a hiss of pain.

"Ah, yes, let's see what we can do about that."

"Give me my keys," Cassie said softly.

She had been in autopsy for a good hour, and seemed to be in less pain than she had been when she went in. She was also breathing better, although not necessarily easier. This made her more determined, and, as it was her car and she had willingly gone to Ducky, he handed over the keys. She smiled at him and headed to the elevators.

"Back home then?"

"Nope."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, but it was a moot point. All Cassie did was smile and push the button for the elevator. He stepped in after her, and, between the morgue and the ground floor, he pressed the stop button.

"What did you tell Ducky that you're scared to tell me?" he asked darkly, turning to face her.

"I'm not scared to tell you anything," she replied hesitantly. "I'm scared of how you'll react to it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to do something stupid for me."

"Something stupid… because he beat you? Or did more go on than just that," he said, and he leveled her with the most piercing stare she'd ever seen.

"I promise; after he goes to trial and is convicted, I'll give you all the gory details you want," she said after a moment. "But only afterward. Let justice do its thing."

Jethro knew when to push and when not to; he always had. He had an especially acute sense about Cassie. She was prone to shutting down and always had been. It was one of the many things she had learned from him that he wished she hadn't, and she had learned it at a very young age. To get her to open, you either had to go her way, or push through until she became violent. He had gone both routes before, but he believed that, this time, the only way he was getting anything out of her was if he did it her way. And so, he nodded and pressed the stop button again. The elevator dinged a moment later, and opened onto the ground floor.

A quiet fell between them as they walked to the car. Once inside, it was broken only by the Mustang's well-tuned engine roaring into life and then dropping back to the low rumble of the sleeping lion at idle. Cassie looked at Jethro in silence for a moment, and then smiled.

"Do you still trust my driving?" she asked with a smirk.

"Of course," he laughed. "I taught you how, didn't I? Why do you ask?"

"We've got a long ride ahead of us for your surprise."

"I told you I'm on call."

"You've also got seniority. They can forgive you for being a ways away."

"How far is a ways?"

"A ways. I don't want to give away too much."

"Hours, Cassie."

"One and a half."

"Too long."

"Too bad," she replied with a smirk.

Without another word, she put the Stang in gear and roared out of the Navy Yard.

Cassie walked up to the Lusby Overlook, digging her heels in as she went. She could hear Jethro behind her, and she could feel his eyes on her, searching for any signs of over exertion. She kept her breathing low and even, despite being slightly heavy. The climb to the overlook was steep, but she had good reason for risking her lungs (and the indignity of having Gibbs carry her back into the Morgue for Ducky to re-examine her) to get up there. She had been just five years old when she first came to the Lusby Look with the man she had once called Uncle Jethro. It had been ice cold on the overlook of the Chesapeake Bay, but beautiful none-the-less. The stars had been as bright as diamonds when Jethro had hoisted her up onto the railing, planted an arm on either side of her, and looked her right in the eyes to tell her that Aunt Shannon and Kelly were gone.

She, although she had no concept of death, had wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

Since then, she had returned a number of times, both alone and with her uncle. She had had her first kiss on the Look, had told Jethro she was leaving Washington on the Look, had found him there after his divorce from Diane, and had even once come up alone, at the age of nineteen, trying to talk herself drunkenly out of suicide.

That last, however, she had never told anyone.

Once the ground leveled out, she walked over to the railing and rested her arms on it, leaning against the wood and staring out at the Bay, and the ice-cold diamond stars reflected there.

"You've never dragged me up here without having something to tell me, Cassie," he said softly.

He came up behind her, planting an arm on either side of her, effectively penning her in. After a few moments, he covered her hands with his own, gently, hoping to put her at ease. She sighed, and he sensed that she had closed her eyes.

"I don't… want to move back in to an apartment," she admitted softly. "It feels like… like… like I'm running away from you, and that's not what I want."

"You've never run away from me," he replied. "If anything, you've always been running to me."

"I know that."

"What about that whole independence thing you had, when you finally turned eighteen and you had this great internship in Massachusetts and you wanted to be up there?"

"I was excited about that, but it was different then. It was… fresh and new and exciting."

"You're scared."

"No, actually, I'm not. Not for the reason you think."

"Then why?" Gibbs asked sharply. In one swift move, he turned her around, his hands wrapped around her upper arms to prevent her from running. It was a position Cassie remembered well; the first time she had wandered home drunk, he had shaken her gently in a similar position until she revealed where she had gotten the alcohol.

"Do you know how many times I've almost lost you?" she snapped. "How many times I've come home to stare at my phone, waiting for the day that someone would call to tell me you were dead; that you had jumped in front of a bullet for someone or that you had been protecting some Marine wife and that last shot had finally found its mark? Do you? More than I can count."

There were tears in her eyes, but they were angry tears; Jethro knew that those of sorrow would come later… much later.

"And, before you try to tell me it's the nature of the job, no, it's not. The risks you take are one thing, but the things you do… the way you act. You can't save everyone! Eventually, there comes a time when you'll have to save yourself."

"What are you trying to tell me, Cassie?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He could almost see her organizing her thoughts, trying to form the simple answer he wanted. He had given her many of his own attributes, some not the greatest, but the way her mind was organized was almost entirely Shannon's early influence, and he knew it.

"That, since I know you won't retire for me, I want to be close enough to know what's happening when it actually happens, not to hear about it casually months later… I want my old room back, permanently."

"Cassie…"

"No, don't you dare give me that independence bullshit. I've been independent, remember? I don't want that anymore. You're all I've got left, other than a pair of parents who think they know me but really don't. You can joke about my mom and dad going after David all you want, but you and I both _know_ that neither one of them could give two shits about him. I'm a stranger to them, one with similar features and traits but a stranger none-the-less, goddamn it."

She stopped for air, her breath coming heavily to her, piercing the silence.

"I guess I'd better get used to breakfast again, then."


	3. Momentum

_**A/N: In honor of the fallen, in respect of those lives lost, today: 9/11/12, I present you with this chapter. It's not much, but it's what I got.**_

Chapter Three- Momentum

Tony rolled off his couch and onto his floor in surprise at the sound of his cell phone exploding on the table. It took a moment to register that the infernal device wasn't _actually_ exploding, and then he flipped it violently open.

"DiNozzo," he barked roughly, picking himself up off the floor gingerly.

"_Tony. What are you doing today?_"

"Boss?"

"_No, it's Santa._"

"I was going to sleep in."

"_Too much sleep is bad for you. Got any other plans?_"

"No."

"_Come help me move Cassie in. There's a six pack on ice and pizza when we're done._"

He considered saying no, he wasn't moving Gibbs's new girlfriend in, and then he remembered that Cassie wasn't Gibbs's girlfriend; Cassie was Gibbs's incredibly attractive cousin-who-was-more-like-his-daughter with the custom neon-blue '65 Stang and the penchant for showing up with a bang. And, considering he had no better plans than sitting around his apartment all day in his pajamas watching reruns and old movies, a six pack and pizza was about as good a deal as he was going to get, even if he had to work for it.

"Sure. Where at?"

"_My place._"

Tony quirked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. After a moment, there was the signature click and then the line was dead. And so, he gathered up his most raggedy jeans-and-t-shirt combo to change into. After a quick check to make sure he didn't look like he'd slept on his own couch, he was out the door and off to the races. His powder blue Mustang was soon parked out front of Gibbs's house, and he had to smile at the similarity in car taste that was floating around.

Before he could even get out of the car, however, a moving van trundled up the street and slipped in, blocking the driveway.

"Alright! Never thought I'd get to see Cas's dad's place," said one of the men that jumped out.

"Not dad, cousin, remember?" the girl who jumped out after reminded.

"Yeah, she had one of those weird childhoods," said the third occupant, a shorter, younger guy than the first.

At that moment, Cassie burst out of the house in an overlarge sweatshirt that clearly belonged to Gibbs and dark-wash jeans.

"Guys!"

After an enormous group hug on the lawn that involved a good deal of jumping and weird motions as well as everybody talking over each other, Tony was obligated to clear his throat.

"Oh! Sorry," Cassie said sheepishly. "Guys, this is Tony DiNozzo. Tony, this is Peter, Mary, and George."

"For a second there, I was sure you were going to say Paul," Tony replied with a smile.

Peter was the first to exit the van, tall with rust-brown hair and faded blue-green eyes that were as soft as they were harsh. He was clearly the oldest, something accentuated by his receding hairline and the almost unforgiving lines on his face. Mary was the girl, slight in build and somewhere between Paul and George in height. Her curly blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and it was clear that she was ready to move. George was the shortest, but not by much. His hair was somewhere in the gray area between dark brown and black, and Tony could tell just by looking at it that it was wiry and hard to contain.

Cassie smiled at the comment before she turned to Peter.

"Open her up."

The moving van was rather small, but, once it was opened, it was clear that it had been more than enough. The largest piece of furniture was a disassembled couch that Tony wasn't sure where it would go.

"Okay, here's a question," Tony asked as Gibbs came out of the house. "Where in the hell is your room?"

"The attic," Gibbs said, and Tony turned to see the evil half grin on his boss's face.

"Oh, no, you've got to be kidding me, boss. I've got a bad back," Tony said softly.

"Football injury?" Gibbs joked.

"Tell you what," Cassie said, speaking up, "You help me move in and I'll take care of your back."

"You mean a massage?"

"Clothes on," she quipped.

Gibbs and Tony watched the heartfelt good-byes from inside the house, each with a beer in hand. It was clear that no one wanted to leave the yard, and Gibbs even caught the words "move to D.C." before Cassie had blocked Peter from view. But, after a while, the three Californians moved back to the van.

"Why would anyone hit such a sweet girl?" Tony asked suddenly. "Headslap, maybe, or a light punch to the shoulder, but never beat."

"You've only gotten to see Cassie twice now, and you think she's a 'sweet girl'?" Gibbs asked, turning to look at Tony.

"Am I wrong?"

"No."

"Then why the surprise?"

"It was unusually perceptive of you."

"You never answered my question."

"If I had to warrant a guess, I'd say jealousy," Gibbs sighed, turning back to look out the window.

Cassie was standing on the step up into the cab, leaning in and talking to her friends still.

"Jealousy?"

"You noticed that she's sweet, but not that Peter spent most of today looking at her like she was the only girl here?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Wouldn't know why," Tony said under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, boss."

"Are you insinuating that you find her attractive, Tony?"

"Would you rather me say I didn't? She's a good looking girl, boss."

"And too smart for you," he replied darkly.

"That hurts."

"You think I'm kidding," he said, and Tony saw the smile on his face. "She scored 195 on the last IQ test she took as a freshman in college."

"Boss, that was thirteen years ago."

"Yep."

"That's scary."

"Try raising a kid that smart; that's when it gets scary."

"Did she ask a lot of questions?"

Gibbs didn't answer. Instead, he turned from the window to the door as Cassie came inside, her cheeks a dusty rose color and her nose a bright red. She shivered once and hugged the overlarge sweatshirt closer to her.

"I see you convinced them to leave," Gibbs said softly.

"Didn't figure you'd appreciate three extra house guests," she replied, walking into the living room.

"They could have stayed the night," he replied, wrapping his arms around her.

She returned the hug in silence for a moment before pulling away. "They would have wanted to keep staying."

"And that's a bad thing because…?" Tony asked.

"For starters, I know what Peter wants and he's not going to get it so California is the best place for him to grow out of it," she said with a smile. "Not to mention their particular careers require them to be in California to have any level of serious commercial success."

"You're concerned about their success?"

"Always, Tony. They're my friends."

With a smile, Cassie disappeared into the kitchen, and Tony looked at Gibbs. The older man shrugged and headed down into the basement in silence.

Cassie smiled at the sight of Tony crashed on Gibbs's couch. She turned and headed back into the kitchen, only on her second bottle of beer despite the fact that they'd been drinking all day long. Gibbs was still downstairs, working on the boat, when she sat down on the landing of the ninety-degree turn into the basement. She sipped her beer, watching his arms pull and push the hand tools with serious precision, his eyes analytically scanning the hull for discrepancies.

Before he moved from beam to beam, he looked up at her. Without a word, he beckoned her over to the boat, a half of a half-smile on his face. She stood up with a sigh and walked over to the boat, setting her bottle on the closest sawhorse. Quietly, she took the sander from him and began to work one of the beams. Although not quite the perfectionist that Gibbs was, Cassie had worked on the boat long enough to know what she was doing.

Even when talking.

"Do you miss her?" she said softly without looking up from the sander.

"Who?" Gibbs asked, and he did look up, staring at the form of the girl he considered his daughter as she did her best to avoid meeting his gaze.

"Kate?"

"I didn't know you knew about that," Gibbs replied, turning back to the boat.

"I came home one weekend and she was leaving. We had a nice conversation. I told her I was your cousin, not much else," Cassie offered. "I waited about five minutes on the porch before I came in. You were already asleep."

"Ah. The morning you appeared from nowhere," he surmised.

"You never answered."

"Sometimes, Cassie. Sometimes."

The young girl finished the work on the beam and turned to Jethro in silence. For a moment, she just watched him, remembering old days when he had guided her hands, or the times he would simply remind her to go with the grain, instead of holding against.

"You never had any intention of sleeping in your car," Gibbs said softly. "The cold wouldn't have stopped you, and you would have frozen to death. We both know this."

Cassie smiled. It was the way it had always worked; she asked about something that was bothering her, he asked about something that was bothering him, before long they were talking. Really, truly talking, without all the fireworks like there had been on Christmas.

"Yeah, we do."

"So why lie and say you were going to?"

"I didn't know you were going to tell them who I was, otherwise I wouldn't have. And, until that morning, I wasn't so sure I was going to stay with you afterward."

"I have a feeling that this all comes back to the bomb and my retirement," he said, turning to her.

"Me not wanting to leave your house? Maybe," she said with a smile. "You know, it took me six months to find out you retired from NCIS, two more to know why. All you told me was that you were going to see Mike for a while."

Gibbs crossed the space between them in silence and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. Enfolded in his embrace, she felt herself relax further, the smell of coffee, sawdust, and something that was just Gibbs filling her nostrils like a scent in aromatherapy. She smiled; it was a reminder of many years of her childhood, many days of her life. She sighed softly.

"You want to know who I really missed?" Gibbs asked softly.

"Who?"

"You."

After a moment Cassie pulled away, a watery smile on her face. She kissed his cheek gently.

"You wouldn't miss me so much if you had someone else to miss on your day off," she said softly, pulling herself up onto the sawhorse. Her look turned meaningful in the space between her words and his response.

"Oh?"

"I see the way you look at her."

Gibbs missed the mark with his sander and dropped the tool on the table beside him. He turned to Cassie and she smirked.

"If you had been drinking coffee, you'd have spit it out," she laughed.

"Damn straight, what the hell are you talking about?" Gibbs asked.

"Oh, please, Uncle Jethro," she scoffed. "I've only seen the two of you together twice and I can see the way you look her. Granted, I don't blame you. If she was a guy, I'd totally-"

"Cassie," he snapped.

"Right," she replied with a smile. "Anyway, when are you gonna go for it?"

"Rule 12."

"Rule 12 my ass; you're scared," Cassie cried, jumping off the sawhorse. She closed the space between herself and Gibbs with a dangerous look in her eye. "You've always used that for an excuse when you're scared."

"Bullshit," he replied, glaring at her.

"No, I call bullshit on you," she bit with a smile. "You're scared that she won't return the feeling, because you're…"

"An old man?"

"Not old. Well aged," she corrected. "You have to slow down and become grumpy and angry to be old. You've always been like this."

His glare intensified and she backed away.

"You should at least give her a shot," Cassie replied. "She looks at you too."

"What?" Gibbs snapped, turning as she raced up the stairs.

"Good night!"


	4. Crosshatch

**_I do so very much apologize for my absence. I was in the middle of a move, and my grandmother has recently passed on, so I've been more than a little busy :(_**

**_I'm back, and this is my gift to you._**

**_And, I thank all those who have reviewed, followed, and/or added this to their alert list._**

* * *

Chapter Four- Crosshatch

Cassie took a deep breath before casting her gaze upward at her favorite partner in crime. Spencer Reid looked down on her in silence before dropping an arm around her shoulders.

"Nervous?"

"Why would I be? I'm a professional, and so is he."

"I've heard horror stories from Fornell about this guy. Doesn't really match up with the stories you tell from childhood," Derek Morgan offered from behind her.

Cassie allowed a laugh to burst into existence before it faded to a soft smile. "Like I said, he's a professional."

"Hard ass?" Morgan asked.

"Absolutely," she laughed.

Cassie, Morgan, and Reid were headed up to the bullpen of NCIS headquarters, on loan from the FBI for a serial killer case that Gibbs just couldn't crack. Apparently, he had said something to Fornell, and then, badabing, badaboom, badabang. With a smile, Cassie stepped out of the elevator in silence. Her eyes traversed the bullpen in silence, and, when she spotted Tony, she headed over, Morgan and Reid trailing.

She flounced quietly toward the desks and stopped in front of Tony's when she didn't see Gibbs at his. He looked up, looked back down as if it was nothing, and then looked up in shock.

"Cassie?"

"Yup. Miss me?"

"How can I? You come collect him from work almost every night, remember?" he said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

"Hey, it's been two months since you've actually seen me and you were drunk most of the day. And, aside from that, it's not every night; just when I think he's been here too long."

"I believe, Ms. Gibbs, that that is indeed every night," Ziva said from the desk behind her. "And what, on earth, did you do with your hair?"

Cassie smiled and shook her head, letting the brightly colored hair flap around her. "You like it?"

"The color is… unique. I was not aware that the BAU allowed their agents to dye their hair strange colors," she offered.

"So I bent a few rules," Cassie said with a smirk. "Where's Gibbs?"

"MTAC," Tony said, pulling her attention back to him. "He'll be back in about twenty minutes if you and your entourage want to hang out?"

"We'll be hanging out a lot longer than twenty minutes," Morgan said with a smirk. "We're the serial killer cavalry here to-"

Cassie elbowed him in the stomach to shut him up, and he stumbled back a little.

"Here to what?" Tony asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Help out," she replied confidently. "Although that was not the word choice my friend here was about to use."

"Mind doing some introductions, Cas?" Gibbs said, walking to his desk.

Cassie was the only one who didn't jump. Instead, she followed him over to his desk, forcing the other two into the center of the bullpen.

"The tall one is Spencer Reid. The one that Ziva was drooling over is Derek Morgan," she said with a smile. "I would have brought the whole team in, but Fornell nixed that."

"Why?" Gibbs asked.

"Hotch and Rossi are hip deep in a cold case, JJ and Prentiss are finishing up reports. The three of us are the only ones who are caught up on our work like good little monkeys in suits," she replied with a smirk. "Therefore, you get the three of us."

"Why does it matter how many of you are here?" Ziva asked.

"She talks about Gibbs a lot," Morgan said. "We've all been way too curious."

"_**Way**_ too curious," Cassie said with a playful snarl.

"Well, while we've got you, how good are you at surveillance?" Tony asked.

"Stake-out time?!" she asked excitedly.

Cassie was bouncing up and down, and Reid and Morgan exchanged a look before putting a hand each on her shoulders to hold her down. All of it put a smile on Gibbs's face.

"Yes, stake-out time."

"Four and three?" Morgan asked.

"Yep. Tony'll be with you."

Cassie shot up off of the old couch in silence, her breathing skyrocketing to match her pulse rate. Her hand came up to rest over her fluttering heart, and Reid and Morgan both turned to her.

"Nightmare," she whispered hoarsely, pulling herself off the couch. She moved to her purse quickly and dug through it until she found her inhaler. For a moment, she stood there, motionless, obviously trying to calm her breathing without it. When it didn't work, she gave up and jammed it in her mouth. She squeezed silently, inhaling the puff of chemicals and medicine quickly, like a drowning man who suddenly breaches the surface.

"Do you… often get asthma attacks after a nightmare?" Tony asked.

Cassie whorled around and stared into his hazel eyes, bright panic flaring again for just a moment. She could easily calculate, based on where she had been when she sat up, that she had fallen asleep with her head in Tony's lap.

_In __**DiNozzo's**__ lap_, she snapped in her mind.

"Only when it's bad," she said, sitting down on the end of the couch furthest from Tony.

"How bad?"

"Very," she whispered.

Tony seemed to recognize that classic Gibbs trait that she usually called "lock down mode", since he stood up and stretched. "I'm gonna go get coffee. You guys want some?"

"Yeah," Reid and Morgan said, not turning from their stations.

As soon as he was out the door, Cassie grabbed her go bag and locked herself into the bathroom. After several minutes, she returned, this time garbed only in gym shorts and a sports bra. Behind the couch, she rolled out a yoga mat and dropped onto it. The chords in her arms strained as she began to do pushups.

_I'm not attracted to him. I'm not attracted to him. I'm not attracted to him. I'm not attracted to him._

"I'm not attracted to him. I'm not attracted to him. I'm not attracted to him."

"To who?" Reid asked.

Cassie didn't even flinch. The fact that she'd been saying the mantra out loud didn't faze her, and she didn't answer the question. Instead, she continued the repetitions, not pausing, not flinching, the chords of tight, toned muscle in her arms standing out as her skin began to take on a red glow from exertion. It took fifteen minutes to get to the coffee shop and back, and Cassie was still doing pushups when Tony walked back in through the door.

By then, Reid was staring at her with concern in his eyes.

"She just had an asthma attack… and now she's doing pushups?" Tony asked the young agent.

"She's stressing about something. Just not sure what," Reid offered. "Here, take over."

He stood up, handing the overlarge headphones he had been wearing to Tony. Without a word, he moved to the couch, and stared over the back of it at Cassie.

"You're going to kill yourself, you know," he observed casually.

"Good," she grunted. "It'll get the world off my back."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Cassie, we're on a case. If you don't-"

"Have I ever been unprofessional Reid?"

"No, but-"

"I'm going for a run; see what I can see."

"It's four o'clock in the morning," Tony called over his shoulder.

"So? A lot of people go for runs in the morning. Ex-military, usually."

"And ex-military is who this guy is targeting, if he's-"

"He is," Morgan said darkly. "He definitely is. We just need to prove it. Let her go; she can handle herself."

"Alright, but if Gibbs finds out, you can tell him."

"Check and double check," Cassie said before heading out the door.

She was seated on a gurney outside the safe house when Gibbs arrived. He came with all cylinders misfiring, and the rage in his eyes was something she imagined she'd see in the eyes of a bull that is going into the arena. She knew a weak smile would have disarmed the bomb awaiting detonation, or even a small wave, but she couldn't bring herself to do either. Instead, she could only think about the stupidity she had shown in the line of duty, and the reason why Rule 12 was in place, especially for young agents.

"What happened?" Gibbs snapped.

"I was frustrated. Went for a run, figuring I could at least get a good look in this guy's basement on the way there and back. He must have… assumed I was ex-military, or something. He came out with chloroform and a gun," she said softly. "DiNozzo got him before he could get me; I was on my way back when he went to jump me."

"And why would you pull such a bull-headed stunt, Cassandra?" he snarled.

He had only ever used such a tone and timbre once in her memory; when she had snuck out, at the age of thirteen, to go to an after prom party. She'd come home smelling like alcohol and marijuana, but that wasn't why he was pissed. He had been pissed because she scared the hell out of him, leaving without even a note. He had returned the favor; she had been certain, by the time he finished yelling at her, that she was going to be sent to a boarding school, or, worse, into foster care.

She'd been so sure that she'd gone upstairs and started packing.

"I told you. I was frustrated," she bit off.

"About?"

"None of your-"

"Cassandra Adriana Gibbs, you pull that none of your business shit with me and I'll have half a mind to shoot you myself," he ground out quickly.

Her eyes darkened, not with fear but with anger. She had grown a lot over thirteen years, since their last fight. She had become more dangerous, and angrier to boot. But, as soon as she considered ripping into him about how she wasn't a child any more, the underlying emotion in his eyes stopped her. He had been worried about her; so worried that he'd actually been scared. The call coming through on the radio must have been like every nightmare he'd ever had coming true at the same time. Hadn't she been the first to say it out loud; all they really had was each other? Tony and the others were as good as family, but as far as people who truly understood Gibbs, she was the only one with the full and broad scope.

Could she honestly say it wasn't the same for him?

"I had had a nightmare," she said softly, finally relenting. "It was about you… and David."

"What about?"

"It seemed like… like I had forgotten everything he did to me. I was with him, happy with him again. And then… you came to the house… in Santa Monica. And you… you killed him… but… when I looked at his face… I didn't see his."

"Who?"

Cassie sighed, and closed her eyes against what was coming. "Tony."

She was waiting for a white-hot explosion that never came. All Gibbs did was let out a breath of pent up air in the form of a sigh. When she opened her eyes, he had a half smile on his face.

"What?" she snapped.

"A lot of women are attracted to Tony, Cassie. You're not the first that I've known or cared about. You won't be the last."

She smiled, and, although he did nothing more than pull the blanket up around her shoulders further, they both knew that she was far from convinced.

After a mile tall stack of paperwork, a few follow-up phone calls, and one rather nasty argument between Cassie and Fornell about who got credit and who didn't, the day that had started with a hail of bullets ended in the seven agents crowding into the elevator.

"So, who's up for a celebratory drink?" Tony asked. "First round's on me."

"On you? Definitely," Ziva replied.

"I think we could handle being around you for a couple more hours, right Reid?" Morgan said with a smirk.

"Sure. You in, Cassie?"

_Say no. Just say no. Drunken debauchery is not how this evening needs to end. Say no, Cassandra. _"Sure."

_**You're an idiot.**_


	5. Uncharted

_**Okay, so, perhaps I'm not the best with the whole update on time thing. I've recently gotten a job (at everybody's favorite Chihuahua represented restaurant) so… Yeah… I'm gonna apologize ahead of time for the sporadicness.**_

_Cassie Internal #1 (Honest Cassie)_

_**Cassie Internal #2 (Modest Cassie)**_

_Gibbs In Cassie's Head_

Tony Internal

Chapter Five- Uncharted

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_.

"So, SSA Cassie Gibbs, how does it feel to be on the wrong end of a profile?"

She felt the knife dig into her flesh, separating skin from muscle fluidly, but could not scream for the pain of it.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

The knife twisted, burying itself between two sections of muscle, and she got the imagine of Ducky doing an autopsy on her, tears in his eyes as he separated muscle from bone, a tremor in his voice as he spoke aloud to the tape recorder. Jethro would want Ducky to do the autopsy; there was no doubt of that in her mind.

There was also no longer any doubt that she was going to die.

_Huh. I never got to kiss Tony, either. Well damn._

_**Sick bitch where did that come from?**_

_Hey, if I'm gonna die, I can at least admit to myself all the shit I didn't get to do._

She was going nuts; she knew it. Between the drugs he had pumped into her prior to her awakening (according to him) and the pain that was practically splitting her in two, she had to be going insane, having an argument with herself about whether or not she should feel guilty for regretting not kissing Tony. She had had plenty of chances; he'd been at Jethro's house enough, and they themselves had gone out for drinks twice, always with Ziva, McGee, Ducky, and Abby for a safety net. She'd never done it because she'd always been sure she'd have more time.

_Time's up._

And, suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard Jethro's voice, in her head.

_Get up, Marine! Up! Up! You never stop fighting, you never quit scrambling. You roar for every inch, you shoot for every mile. You. Never. Back. Down._

Summoning all her courage, she hocked back and spit in his face, opening her eyes for the first time since she'd awoken in the godforsaken operating room from hell. He reared back, fear in his eyes. They had profiled him as germaphobic, and he was. Oh, boy he was. He raced out of the room, scrambling to wipe the spit off his face, and Cassie peered down at her restraints.

She caught sight of her left arm and was suddenly glad she was a righty.

_Focus._

Cassie twisted her right wrist to the point where she was sure she couldn't coax so much as an millionth of a degree more, and her fingers brushed the instrument tray on her right. As quickly as possible, she pulled it closer, and her fingers found the handle of a scalpel. She flipped it quickly, glad that she'd spent a little bit of time with Ziva, under the guise of learning more about knives and really to probe her about her feelings, and had actually learned something.

"How in the _fucking__** hell**_ does something like this happen, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner?!" Gibbs roared into the phone. There was rage in his voice, and, at the FBI base at Quantico, Hotch was definitely glad he wasn't having this conversation in person.

"_Sir, with all due respect, your daughter is very much a half-cocked agent. She plays by her own rules, always has. This time, everything was against her and she still went in. There was a five year old involved, and she seems particularly incensed by young children,_" Hotch replied. "_Look, she's my friend, and I will do everything in my power to find her, but I could use your help on this. We're not investigators over here; we're criminologists._"

"Alright. Me and my team will be there, ASAP," he replied. Before Hotch could say anything else, Gibbs slammed the phone into the cradle and stood up at his desk. "Gear up!"

Tony, Ziva, and McGee all grabbed their go bags. It wasn't hard to tell that something was wrong, but they could only hope that he would reveal it to them before they got… wherever they were going.

"Um, boss?" McGee asked, stepping into the elevator.

"What, McGee?" he snapped.

"Where are we going?"

"Cassie's been kidnapped; the FBI has called us in to assist her team in finding her," he replied darkly.

Tony's eyes widened slightly first, and then darkened. They became cold, distant, and he looked at the elevator doors in silent contemplation. An easy camaraderie had developed between them; Cassie was able to see through the façade of jokes and brazen womanizing, and he was able to see through her Marine-daughter shell. They weren't perfect; there had been arguments about approaches and tactics, but Tony had a feeling that their hiccups stemmed from her hiding something.

He only felt that because he hid it, too.

The car ride to Quantico was silent, and each of the agents was wrapped in their own thoughts. Ziva's were the least emotional, and she was contemplating how many ways she could rip out the perpetrator's intestines and tie them around his neck, thereby strangling him. In the seven months she had lived with Gibbs, she had not only made their lives easier (a small part of which everyone attributed to the more-than-just-coffee breakfast) by making Gibbs easier to live with, but also had made their lives brighter. She was a welcome addition to any party, and, whenever she was off a case and off work before Gibbs got home, she usually came in to assist in the lab.

She wasn't perfect, but neither were they.

They parked in the visitor's lot at the BAU headquarters before heading into the building proper. They were met in the lobby by the full team.

"You must be Gibbs," Hotch said, extending a hand. Behind him, Reid and Morgan nodded, the former still slightly shell shocked.

"What exactly happened to her?" Gibbs asked darkly.

"She was, um, negotiating for the release of a little boy, waiting for the hostage negotiators to get there. Apparently the boy was a decoy, and he was after her instead," Reid said nervously.

"Who was her back-up?" Tony asked.

"She didn't have one," Morgan replied. "She went flying out of here, all cylinders firing, yelling something about having a lead. It's the first time she's left the office in days, and we thought it was better to have her go than to try to get her to hang back."

"Anacondas in her pants?" Ziva asked.

"Ants," Tony corrected. "Ants in her pants. You'll have to forgive her, English isn't her first language."

Morgan gave a half smile and continued. "Something like that. She was getting difficult to live with."

"She's always difficult to live with on a case. We both are. What about the lead?" Gibbs replied darkly.

"She found his apartment, went to case the place, and the boy was inside. He knew she had found him and needed a way to get her inside. She called for the hostage negotiator and to alert us before going up, but, before anyone got there, she offered to trade places with the boy. He accepted," Reid explained.

"How do you know this?" Ziva asked.

"Cassie is smart, Ziver. She was wearing a wire," Gibbs surmised.

"The whole conversation is taped," he confirmed.

"Where is the tape?"

Reid produced it and tossed it to Gibbs.

"Take this to Abby. Have her isolate the dirt bag's voice."

"There's no database-" McGee began.

"I am aware of that, McGee. It's for later. This sonofabitch took my daughter; if he doesn't die, I want an ironclad conviction," Gibbs snarled before he crossed the no man's land between the two teams, effectively turning the conversation much quieter.

"Did you catch that?" Tony asked.

"What? That he referred to her as his daughter?"

"No; that we'd better move our asses."

Cassie slipped the door of the cabinet closed just as the door to the room opened. She tuned her ears intently to the footsteps that entered, paused and then rushed further into the room. She still had the scalpel in hand, but she didn't want to risk going after him while her arm was still desperately in need of attention. The only way that attention was going to be given was if he left the room to look for her. She had seen the lock on the door, and she would be able to knock over a cabinet to barricade herself in the room before he could get a key to open the door.

She listened hard as he crept around the table, looking for a hair out of place.

She had been careful to keep her arm wrapped in the hospital gown she was in, and hadn't left any drops of blood on the floor. Whatever drugs were in her blood, one of them was something to slow blood flow; the bleeding hadn't really even started yet, nor had the adrenaline. She was clear headed and functioning high and tight as ever, but once adrenaline kicked in it'd be a hell of a lot easier.

His footsteps headed out the door and back into the hall.

Carefully, ever so slightly, she opened the door. He was gone, and the room was empty. The door had been left standing wide and, lo and behold, the keys, for some unknown reason, were in the door lock. Gingerly, stepping on soft feet, she made her way over to the door. She pulled the keys out and slammed the door shut, just as the dirt-bag raced back down the hall. Obviously, the keys had been a trick to draw her out, but he hadn't expected her to be so quick on her feet.

She pressed the lock home and then moved to the cabinet she'd been hiding in. With a hard shove, she pushed it over, and, using her hip, leg, and working arm, she shoved it in front of the door. She knew he wouldn't shoot her; despite the fact that the situation had gotten out of hand, he was so compulsive that he would have to finish the ritual before he killed her.

She had no intention of letting him get her left ulna, the only bone he was missing.

She had been chasing the Skeleton Man since her first year at the BAU. Her fear had been that she would never catch the bastard, but, instead, she'd ended up his final victim. His intent, so far as she could tell, was to rebuild the body of his dead wife through "necromancy". He had to assemble a skeleton, of the female persuasion, and the gods would do the rest. Despite being a scientist, Cassie was religious enough in her own way to believe that, even if he couldn't resurrect his wife, he could do some hinky shit with a skeleton.

He'd been picking his way through women across the country for five years, picking out the "perfect" bones. Apparently, he thought her left arm had good structure, because she had been next. He had played to her weaknesses, capitalizing on the fact that he knew her as well as she knew him. If she had only known who was in the room with the boy…

_Nope. I still would have gone in after him._

Cassie, watching as he raced away, looking for something, moved over to the table of instruments. She pulled a suture set out of the pile and began to sew, ignoring the now sharp pains in her arm. When she pulled the stitches tight, bringing the severed skin back to it's former partner, she tied it off and then taped gauze sponge in place, before wrapping the whole rig in white gauze. Turning to look out the window, she saw that he was gone, and headed over to another cabinet. A set of greens was inside, and she pulled them on, pulling the hospital gown over her head in silence.

There was no phone hook up in the room, and she guessed that her cell phone was in a box in the hallway, along with the rest of the victim's personal effects. Every girl so far had been found in a hospital gown, with medical style incisions in strategic places and bones missing from whatever limbs the incisions happened to be on.

"Think, Cassandra, think."

She jumped as the glass in the door shattered, and an arm peaked through the tall, narrow rectangle, feeling for the door handle. Without hesitation, Cassie jumped on top of the barricade, the scalpel finding the flesh of his arm with jarring precision. He pulled back, howling in pain.

"Doesn't feel so great, does it?" she shouted.

Adrenaline was starting to kick in, and, unlike most others, it was clearing her head, making thoughts flow faster through a tighter net of keep-and-discard parameters. Words from the profile and case files began to float by; ritualistic, obsessive, religious, occultist, spirituality, morality, self-preservation. Suddenly, she turned to the cabinets and began to tear through them, hoping that he wouldn't think to cut the power to the brightly lit hospital room, rendering her into almost total darkness and making it impossible to find what she needed.

The arm came back through, bloody and getting bloodier, as Cassie opened the tall cabinet against the back wall. One black tower candle and a lighter rested there, and she snatched them quickly.

"Can we get a GPS fix on her phone, Abby?"

"_No._"

"Then damn it, Abs, what did you call for?"

Gibbs was tearing across the back roads in an all black FBI SUV, Hotch and the rest of the BAU team hot on his tail. Reid was in the passenger seat, shouting out directions every now and again. They were headed into northern Virginia, where the van that Mike Mitchell, the suspected Skeleton Man, had last been seen in had been abandoned.

"_Because, I know where they are."_

"Spill, Abby."

"_Mike Mitchell's late wife, Veronica had a huge inheritance after her parents died in a freak incident of simultaneous heart attacks. She got a huge, spacious farm out of the deal, not far from Front Royal, where the van was dropped off."_

"Why didn't anybody catch this before?"

"_The property is still in her father's name, Damien Freewater._"

"Good work, Abby."

"_Bring her back, Gibbs._"

He hung up and tossed the phone to Tony.

"Alright, kid, can you get us to Front Royal, Virginia?"

Cassie had lit the candle moments before the lights went out (either Mike was a mind reader or he was smarter than she gave him credit for), and she started to get the serious creeps. When he finally came back to see her sitting, legs folded, in front of the ritual candle, mumbling Creole nonsense she remembered from her days with her mother under her breath, he gave exactly the reaction she hoped for. He went ballistic, howling and beating on the door, trying to do something, anything.

After a while, he calmed down.

"What are you doing, little fly?" he asked softly.

"Summoning the spirits of all those you've killed, big spider," she replied, just as softly.

"Now why would you do something like that when I've got you in my web?"

"Because they're what I need to get out of your web."

Mike fell silent, staring into the dark room where only the flickering candle gave any illumination. Cassie was sweating, the adrenaline pumping through her veins causing her temperature to rise as metabolic functions increased, her body prepping for her chance at fight or flight. She was going to have to put on a show, something to cause him to fear for his life in some way. She needed him to run.

"I summon from the darkness the souls of all those whom this man has killed. I call to thee, come forth and have your vengeance," she said, allowing the words to flow in the smooth rhythm of a chant.

"Stop it," Mike said firmly.

"I summon from the darkness the souls of all those whom this man has killed. I call to thee, come forth and have your vengeance," she repeated, allowing the rhythm to be repeated in the same steady pace, despite her racing heart.

"Stop!"

"I summon from the darkness the souls of all those whom this man has killed. I call to thee, come forth and have your vengeance."

The flickering candlelight, the vast darkness of the room, and the rise and fall of her voice seemed to affect the Skeleton Man. Fear crossed his face, as did apprehension as she continued to repeat the words. For a few moments, he stood riveted to the spot, staring in at her, not realizing that she was aiming her breath to cause the candle's flickering, an old trick she had learned while telling scary stories to her friends in college.

He was there for perhaps three minutes before he bolted. She stood up, holding the candle high as she pulled the cabinet smoothly out of the way and opened the door, chancing a glance down the hall. Mike was backing up toward the wall, and a gun was slowly appearing from the stairwell. She watched Mike's hand twitch, and realized he had been going for a gun to shoot her, and had gotten to it. There was another twitch, and then his hand started to rise before the .9 mil jumped, the explosion of gunpowder an exquisite pain in her ears.

"Cassie!" Jethro's voice called, and he appeared around the corner.

There was an explosion of emotion in her heart; fear and pain were swept away by the overwhelming sense that she had almost never been able to see him again, and she sprinted down the hall toward him. He holstered his gun and opened his arms as she ran into them. She locked her arms behind him, buried her face in his sport coat, and let herself cry.

"Shhh, it's alright," he whispered into her hair. "I've got you. He's gone. I've got you."

"No, I'm fine," she snapped darkly. The EMT backed off. "The only people on the face of the planet who is going to take a look at anything are Abby Sciuto and Ducky."

"Cassie, you really-" Tony began.

"No. I've had enough today. All I want is to get a physical from Ducky and go home," she snarled.

Tony sighed, and took off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Alright. Gibbs and I will take you back to NCIS. Ducky will check you out and then we'll take you home."

"Cassie!"

Hotch came running up, closing his phone as he did.

"What's the word, thunderbird?" Cassie said, but, by the expression on her face, she knew what was up.

"Provided you get a physical, and no, it doesn't matter from who, you can be back in the field on Monday," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It was the best I could do."

She, instead of exploding like Tony could see she wanted to, just nodded and pulled the jacket closer. Gibbs finally came back over, and helped her down off the gurney. After a moment of steadying herself, she began to walk, Tony and Gibbs at either arm, back to the SUV that the FBI had loaned them.

"Just take the car back to the Navy Yard. Reid will swap them out when he gets there," Hotch called.

Gibbs waved in acknowledgement before he and Tony hoisted Cassie up into the truck.

The drive back to the Navy Yard as a long one, and Cassie, in the back seat with Tony, was more tired than she realized. Before they ever passed out of the township, she was asleep, leaning against Tony with a soft smile on her face.

"She's had a hard life, hasn't she?" Tony asked softly, and he found himself carding his fingers through her hair.

This is Gibbs's "daughter". Even if that's not biologically correct… What the hell am I doing?

"What makes you say that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs quipped.

"She was almost flayed alive, tricked a guy into believing she was summoning dead spirits, oh, yeah, and she was kidnapped. And she's back here, asleep, with nary a nightmare," Tony said softly.

"She's seen some of the most terrible things you could ever imagine, Tony. Eventually, the nightmares go away," he sighed. "Or at least stop effecting you."

"I don't understand how they stand to do it, and still be such happy people."

"It's the only choice we've got," Cassie murmured before turning over, burying her face in Tony's shoulder while keeping her left arm on top.

"Other than the obvious bruises from transportation, you're quite fit to return _on Monday_," Ducky said, overemphasizing the last words. "Until Monday, take it easy. And, don't forget that you'll have to complete a psych evaluation."

"But, Ducky-"

"Although, I suppose I could give you the psych eval now, while I have you here," Ducky mused.

Cassie sighed; it was clear that she wasn't going back to work for a week; far too clear. "Am I at least cleared to fly?"

"Well, yes, but why?" the doctor asked softly.

"Since I'm going to have a week off work, I thought I might drop in on an old friend of mine," she said with a smile.

Ducky nodded, and then dove into the question sheet of a standard psych evaluation. She answered each honestly, with a soft smile on her face at the absurdity of it all. She seemed to take everything in stride, and, at the end of it, Ducky looked at her.

"You're in remarkably good spirits for a young woman who was just kidnapped," he remarked, putting the paper away.

Cassie sighed, the soft smile still firmly on her face. "Oh, I have no doubt I'm not going to sleep well for a few days. There'll be nightmares, and I probably won't be able to go anywhere near a dead body for a few days after I go back to work. Doesn't change the fact that I'm lucky; I'm still alive."

Ducky smiled and patted her shoulder gently before giving it a squeeze. "I imagine that's why you've been able to do this job for so long."

"I know it."

Without much more conversation, Cassie made her way out of autopsy in silence, only to find Tony standing in front of the elevator, blocking her from going up.

"What's up, DiNozzo?"

"Boss-man said to keep you down here until he gets back from dropping your blood off with Abby," he said gently.

"Good."

Tony cocked his head, but she only took a step toward him, wrapping delicate fingers around the back of his neck. She pulled him down to her level and pressed her lips to his. The reaction was instant; his arms came to rest on her waist, pulling her closer, and he responded with every ounce of enthusiasm he could muster.

She broke for air first, and took a quarter of a step back, putting just enough distance between them so that, if the elevator doors started to open, she could put enough space between them to make the situation less intimate.

"Okay," Tony said softly. "What the hell was that?"

"I thought you were an adult, Tony. I assumed you'd know."

"Don't be coy; why did you kiss me?" he replied.

"Because I wanted to," she said. When the confusion in his eyes didn't clear, Cassie sighed. "I just got a big reminder that I'm not going to be here for forever. It's been seven months since I did anything remotely like this. I'm tired of being scared."

Tony leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.

"Okay, so what now?"

"First, I'm not playing with you, I promise. Second, I'm going to Vegas for a week to visit an old friend of mine," she said gently. "When I get back, then we'll figure out what next. Sound good?"

"Sounds… great, actually," he replied.

They jumped apart as the elevator doors began to open, and, judging by the look on Gibbs's face, he didn't suspect a thing.


End file.
